


Not a Queen. A Dragonlord.

by KusakabeNAyako



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KusakabeNAyako/pseuds/KusakabeNAyako
Summary: Viserys sold Daenerys to the Temple of Volantis when she was four. Twelve years later, she's the rider of the only dragon in existence and her attention is courted by a great many people. Including a young man who claims to be her nephew.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 42





	Not a Queen. A Dragonlord.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, English isn't my first language.

Master Illyrio made sure that no expenses were spared.

She could see that in the little details. Exquisite tables, exotic dishes and beautiful servants were scattered around the yard. Visitors from all across Essos. She could see it in the way they dressed. From Slaver’s Bay, Myr and Lys, even Quart, people were chatting with each other in their most expensive dresses, trying to rub shoulders in order to make some good arrangements for themselves.

Daenerys watched them all from the balcony for now. Hew own black and red dress was just as finely made with hundreds of small rubies, red embroidery and shimmering black scales. It broadened her shoulders, accentuated her figure and left a good portion of both her chest, back and arms open, while it managed to flow behind her like the imitation of dark wings. The girl Master Illyrio sent her, Doreah managed to braid her hair exactly as she told her, in the valyrian style. Hundreds of thin curly lines were gathered into a bouquet of silver at the back of her head, decorated with black pearls and dark metal. For this occasion, she settles for a black circlet upon her brow.

Better not stir up some scandal when she finally meets her brother.

She watched him, frail thing he was, try to mingle with the powerful of Essos and even from up here she saw how miserably he was failing. His host tried his best to loan him the look of a King for this night at least, yet no amount of dark robes and dark crowns will give an army to the Beggar King. Daenerys pitied him.

“You don’t wish to meet with the Guests, Your Highness?”

She turned around and dropped into an excellent curtsy. She extended her hand with a small smile and let the Master of the House kiss her ringer with a smile of his own. Master Illyrio was a giant of a man. The sea air and the rich foods clearly showed on the layers of fat he had accumulated through the years, yet Daenerys saw the grace he was moving with and contemplated if she was seeing a mirage. She decided not to pry. They all have their own reasons to look the way they did tonight.

“Master Illyrio. I thank you for your invitation. I’m also glad your message didn’t miss me. It was by a stroke of luck that I happened to be in Volantis right when it arrived.”

Just like she didn’t pry on his appearance, he didn’t pry her gentle lie. No matter what corner of the world she would be, High Priestess Kinvara would’ve reached her just like she communicated with other Red Priests. Though Daenerys was not in fact a Red Priestess, the Ruby on her Valyrian steel choker might’ve given many that idea and she was wiser than correcting them. Controlled misconceptions are an excellent weapon.

“In case I am ever more overjoyed that you’ve managed, Princess.”

“Not a Princess anymore, my friend, though I imagine my brother would object to the notion.”

Both of them looked down at the King in question.

“That he would, My Lady. He has a great many ideas about your hand in marriage.”

Daenerys felt the smile turn sad on her face as she leaned against the warm sandstone railing of the balcony. Her brother was clinging to everything he can imagine in order to reclaim their father’s throne. Using everything he has, from their mother’s crown to Daenerys herself. That was undeniable, since he sold her to the High Priest of Volantis when she was only four so he could spend the money on an army which he would use to take back their homeland. In his eyes, at least. Alas, in the end he only managed to stay off of the streets until now. No army would listen to him and the ones that did would’ve murdered him in his sleep the second he took off with them, something he was clearly aware of, since he managed to avoid that fate for now.

“I can imagine. Let me guess. Xaro Xhoan Daxos?” At his unsurprised nod, she let out a faint laugh. “I turned him down at least seven times while I was visiting the warlocks of Qarth. It seems he decided on a middle man, though I doubt a clever man like him would actually think that Viserys has any say on who I’ll marry.”

“Indeed, one does not make it into the Thirteen without knowing which deals have a chance to profit.”

She hummed, agreeing.

“I imagine Khal Drogo is here for the same reason, though I have my doubts. That man. He is much more than he seems, isn’t he?”

The merchant gave her a deep look and a slow nod. Daenerys searched for the robust man with her eyes and the second she found him, their gazes intertwined. He was watching her, unflinching. His dorthraki robes were a little outlandish in the crowd, yet they were much more acceptable than those his three bloodriders were wearing.

Daenerys held his gaze. She’s never met the man in person, only heard about his achievements and ambitions from others. It intrigued her. As much as she despised slavers, if she refused to engage in conversation with them from time to time, she’d only be able to talk to a handful of people. Besides, it was only a few years until Rhaellon’s scales finally harden into their final strength. After that, she can put her plans in motion and get rid of their filth from Essos.

She let a small smirk grace her lips before she looked away. Half of the people here desired her, both men and women alike. Everyone wanted a piece of the only living dragon lord in existence. She learned a long time ago that their desire is something she could use against them.

She turned back to Illyiro.

“I see some westerosi as well.” She gestured towards the Red Viper and his lovely paramour at one table, watching an erotic performer, while whispering to each other.

“Prince Oberyn was a surprise guest, but a welcome one. He came here as his brother’s envoy.”

“I imagine. The Grass and the Viper. And what about the Mormont?”

Illiryo laughed.

“So you’ve noticed. Nothing escapes you, My Lady. He is an exiled knight. He ran from Eddard Starks justice after he sold slaves.”

That raised her eyebrow.

“Slaves? In Westeros? How did that come to happen?”

“As far as I know, he had no money and a demanding wife.”

“Ah.”

Money turns men into monsters. She should’ve been surprised. Lifting a thing gold cup from the round table between them, she took a sip and hummed at the sweet tastes. She politely listened to Illyrio’s chatter about the Arbor Gold and smiled at him at the right times. Her mind was somewhere else, though. Why were they here? This event was way too expensive for a simple ball and no one worth their salt here would actually believe that they had a chance to gain her hand from Viserys. No one know that she’d be here, not until she arrived on dragon back in the middle of the day.

“Who is the true Guest of the Evening, Master Illyiro?”

The man’s smile turned enigmatic.

“I’m sure My Lady already has a few ideas. Alas, let me leave this as a surprise. It’s not too long now, until they arrive anyway.”

She forced a portrait perfect smile on her face.

“Alright, I’ll let you keep your secrets. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I can see that some people are itching to talk to me.”

“Naturally, My Lady. Have a pleasant evening.”

Daenerys nodded to him as she pushed away from the railing and began to approach one of the stairs. She was set out to talk with the Martell’s first, for their presence was a welcome surprise she intended to use well. She had some things to say that were needed to be said, yet there were almost no one who could express them. The Prince recognized her in an instant.

“Princess Daenerys.”

“Just Lady, Prince Oberyn. I’m honored to have finally met you.” She turned her gaze to the woman in orange and gold beside him. He took the hint.

“Lady Daenerys, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand.”

“My Lady.” The woman’s curtsy would put any woman of high status to shame.

“Lovely to meet you, Lady Ellaria.” She turned a sad gaze towards the Prince. “I am so sorry for your sister and her children, Prince Oberyn. Though I’ve never met them, I mourn them as family all the same.”

His eyes told her that he was touched by the sentiment.

“I do mourn them as well. Every day. They cannot rest in peace until their killers have been brought to justice.”

“Not justice.” She found herself correcting. “Until revenge has been taken. There is no justice for _that_.”

She all but spat the last word and felt the Valyrian temper rise high as her blood boiled at the thought. For the first time since their meeting, a true emotion came over the man’s face. Approval. He was pleased to meet someone who shared his blood lust.

“I’ve heard you have a dragon, My Lady. I confess, I always wanted to meet one.”

She heard the implications behind his words crystal clear.

“And so you shall meet him. Rhaellon is an excellent mount. By the grace of the gods, he is past his rebellious stage. Nowadays he only kills whom I want dead.”

A single second of heavy silence lingered between them, thick with understanding. An unspoken promise. Although Daenerys had almost no ambition towards Westeros, she’d gladly listen to the screams of the Mountain under the fires of Rhaellon. Maybe that made her a dangerous person. Someone like her brother or R’Hllor forbid, her sire. It didn’t matter. For the right reason, everyone had a slight mad streak in them.

A smile lit up her face and the heaviness was gone.

“I’ve heard that your brother suffers from the gout. Please give him my well wishes when you next see him.”

“I will, My Lady. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear from you.”

“It’s kind of you to say that.”

They chatted for a few minutes about lighter topics. She asked if they had any children together and then found out that Oberyn Martell had _eight_ daughters. She supposed it was easier to have children in every corner of the world if you weren’t the one who had to give birth to them. When she voiced this thought, Ellaria burst out in delighted laughter, while the Prince grinned with a guilty expression. In the end, they dropped a few hints about her being welcome in their bed and in turn Daenerys dropped some hints of her own about sleeping with an open door at night.

Then they said their goodbyes and she was alone once more, though not for long. People swarmed her like flies, all eager to rub shoulders. Not her brother though. Their eyes met exactly once and Daenerys was sure to communicate her feelings towards him while raising a cup to her lips, making sure that the dark claw ring on her pointing finger was visible.

He just swallowed and looked away. Good.

To her great disappointment, even though the hours were passing, there was no sign of the mystery guest. She contemplated on exchanging a few words with the exiled knight, but it only took one glance at him to know that something was amiss about that man. He fidgeted the exact same way a guilty man would under scrutiny.

Maybe he was an agent of the Baratheron King. Entirely plausible. Or maybe he wanted to win back his honor by providing information about the last Targaryen and his sister. Or maybe they sent him here for exactly that. Whatever was the case, Daenerys didn’t feel like playing the Westerosi game right then.

So when Oberyn and Ellaria said that they were retiring for the night, inviting her as well, she went along with a smile. Their rooms were fitting for a Prince of Dorne, had a perfect bed where they spent the next hour or so, as well as excellent food and wine prepared on the balcony, where they were enjoying the cooling moments of their passion.

“… but the Tyrell boy’s leg got stuck to the saddle. He broke his leg and even though they sent for a maester, he now requires a crutch to walk.” Ellaria finished the story by taking a sip of her wine.

“Poor young man. He couldn’t have been much older than I am, correct?”

During the last hour, her head ornaments were scattered around the room, so now her silver-gold hair was flowing freely onto her back. She had to constantly move the thick locks to let the cool breeze slide between them. She didn’t bother completely redressing, leaving the cape part of the dress on the floor, thus her back and arms were completely exposed.

“He had no business being on the tournament in the first place. I have no idea what his father was thinking.” Though she knew Oberyn only for a few hours, she detected the slight guilt even behind his sharp words.

“It was a terrible lesson, I’m sure. A pity that the relationship between the two great houses soured because of that.”

The Prince shrugged, munching on a fig.

“Once the Queen of Thorns dies, it’ll be water under the bridge. She is the only one keeping the grudge alive. Both the boy and his father acknowledged their carelessness as the reason.”

Daenerys hummed and sipped he own wine as well. Politics were the same all across the globe, no matter how they manifested. Grudges and bad blood was the backbone of every society, upheld by the faint threads of marriage alliances. She already had the urge to grimace at the thought of having to deal with that once she starts to actually rid Essos of slavery.

“Tell us a tale of your own, Daenerys. Someone with a dragon must be very well travelled.”

Both Oberyn and Ellaria were curious creatures, their gazes eager.

“Well, I only started to travel around three years ago when I was barely thirteen. Having Rhaellon was a great asset. He took me to Asshai once. The strangest place I’ve ever been. I was kind of fascinated with their-“

A knock. They all turned towards the door, waiting for a few second to make sure they heard it right. When it came for a second time, Oberyn stood up and opened the door. It was a servant girl. She was muttering something to him, which prompted the Prince of Dorne to reply in the same tone. After a few seconds, he stepped aside. Once the girl spotted Daenerys, her face relaxed with relief.

“My apologies, My Lady. Master Illyrio wishes to speak with you.”

Daenerys found it hard not to frown.

“At this hour?”

“Yes, My Lady. He said that ‘the guest was held up, but now they’d like to meet the dragon lord’.”

She kept the frown and she drank again. That was certainly improper. It must’ve been around two or three in the middle of the night. Hardly an appropriate time to meet anybody. Maybe this strange guest was in a hurry? Still, what if Daenerys already went to sleep? Whoever was it, they certainly missed some lessons in manners.

“You’ll have to excuse me.” She muttered as she stood up.

Both the Prince and his paramour were kind enough to quickly help her adjust her dress. Ellaria especially was a blessing, since she got her hair done in what felt like barely five minutes. She kissed them on the cheek one last time and wished them good night.

While they were silently roaming the halls, she was slightly fuming inside. It was once in a blue moon that she choose someone as a bedmate and she liked to stay until the morning every time, to collect some good memories of them after the passion. Now that she was deprived of this, her mood soured a great deal. Even then, it turned from bad to worse when she was announced to Illyrio’s salon and entered to find a livid Viserys pacing back and forth, while the owner of the mansion sat by the heavy round table with two strangers. One of them was an older man, the other was a young boy, around her age.

He gasped slightly when his eyes fell on her. Any other day, she’d have forgiven him for it. Sex made the magic of her blood sing and her presence always gleamed after. Hey eyes shone almost on their own, her hair became ever purer and bouncy, her skin gaining a healthier pink hue. She was sure some of the love bites were staring to show on her neck and chest already, her lips still slightly puff and rosy from the hard kisses.

“Master Illyrio. I am dismayed by this insult. I’ve never been dragged out of the bed in the middle of the night before. I trust you had a good reason.”

Viserys snorted out loud at this, not at all kingly on his part, but if he was given the same treatment, she could understand it wholeheartedly. The older stranger gave her a hard, cold look, while the boy squirmed in his seat, properly chastised. Even the owner of the mansion bowed his head in regret.

“My apologies, Lady Daenerys, but the participants of this meeting must be kept secret. I hope that despite the insult you’ve taken, I can count on your discretion.”

She walked over to the table and poured herself a generous amount of wine, her robes flowing behind her life sea foam. Most of her hair was still cascading freely onto her chest and back, so she pushed it back a little, exposing more of her neck in the process.

“Very well, I shall indulge your wishes for now, magister. I hope I don’t have to wait anymore for you to introduce your guests.”

The man promptly stood up, his huge belly jiggling, just like the golden accessories on him.

“Of course, pardon me. This is Daenerys Stormborn of Valyria, the Rider of Rhaellon. My Lady, you are in the presence of Aegon of the house Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and his Hand of the King, Jon Connington.”

For a few seconds, she only managed a single, slow blink. She looked at Viserys who was looking at her, no doubt trying to figure out her reaction, which was the testament of his lingering sanity. There were two claimants for the same Throne in this room, but only Daenerys was the one with the dragon. Whomever she decides to support would most likely be considered the real claimant of that rumored ugly iron chair.

“Aegon, you say? As in the son of Rhaegar? I thought his head was crushed by the Mountain.”

“A lie.” The older man, _Connington_ all but spat.

“I see. An easy thing to say, much harder to prove. True, his injuries made it impossible to identify him for sure. Yet you put me in a peculiar situation, Master Illyrio. You want me to choose between two Kings, one I know to be a Targaryen for sure, the other has better claim, or so would you have me believe.” She sat down gracefully onto one of the free chairs. “Not to mention my sire removed Rhaegar and his children from the succession.”

“The decision of a mad man afraid of his power being taken away.” Connington supplied.

“That might be the case, yet he still had the right to do so. What’s more, my mother crowned my brother King after Rhaegar lost at the Trident.”

The young king claimant cleared his throat, knowing very wisely, that he should choose his words carefully about Daenerys’s lady mother.

“I’m sure Her Grace was simply unaware of my survival, Your Highness.”

“Not ‘Your Highness’. I’ve removed myself from that line of succession. ‘My Lady’ will suffice.”

In any other cases, it would be rude to correct a king, especially like this, but Daenerys was unsure if she was willing to acknowledge him as such. She saw the Hand bristle, yet he had the wisdom of holding his tongue. A dragon was worth more than ten well trained armies, especially a big one like Rhaellon who was in his prime. It would be most unwise to displease his rider.

“How did they managed to get you out?”

“It was a friend of mine in the capital, My Lady.”

She didn’t miss how Illyrio didn’t elaborate on the identity of this person. She sipped her wine once more and leaned back in her chair. Looking at the young man right now, he seemed a safer bet than Viserys, even if he was lying about his identity. The problem wasn’t choosing, since before this meeting, she never really considered going to Westeros to _conquer_ it. Not for Viserys and not for herself. Why would she do it for a stranger? Even worse, if she decides to back this supposed Aegon, they had to deal with Viserys, who would no doubt try until his dying breath to claim that wretched chair.

These people might try to make a kinslayer out of her is she isn’t careful.

She glanced at Viserys, studying his thin hair, frail look and crazed eyes. She pitied him for the life he was forced to live. It would’ve been more miserable for both of them if he hadn’t sold her that day, but the heart of a wounded child rarely, if ever forgives for a slight so great. There remained a part of her that still loved him. Or at least the memory of him.

But she’ll never make a King of him.

She turned back to the young man.

“Another stranger with an unknown agenda.” She didn’t like the mind games of the court. It could drive any careless person mad. That tangled web of interests and slights.

“He acted out of loyalty, My Lady.”

She cast a furious gaze towards the magister.

“Would that be true, there would be three people before me now! Elia Martel wouldn’t have been raped and butchered, her daughter wouldn’t have been massacred!”

Illyrio avoided her gaze.

“Sometimes one just cannot save everybody.”

“Oh, I _know_. The _women_ of our house died, but _thank the gods_ for the male survivors. A Beggar King.” She gestured towards a furious Viserys who was seconds away from exploding. “And a God-King who survived his head being crushed. The two together doesn’t make a Conqueror needed to reestablish the Targaryen House.”

“Mind your tongue!” Connington hissed the same time Viserys exploded.

“Careful now, sister, you are about to wake the dragon!”

Just as he said that, Rhaellon let out a mighty roar right outside the mansion. His rage shook the walls and rattled the furniture. Everyone in Pentos paled a dozen shades at the sound, many startled from their sleep, others turning towards the great mansion with terror, some even ducked for cover, not waiting for the firestorm to start. Daenerys watched the four men fail in various degrees to hide their chastisement.

“As far as I’m concerned.” She said, her voice cold, calm and low. “I am no Targaryen. I am a _Stormborn,_ a Dragon Lord of Valyria. If any of you wish to form an alliance, bring something to my table. Until then, I wish you good night, My Lords and Your Graces. I need to go and clear my head.”

With that, she left the room like a silver shadow.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.


End file.
